CHAPTER TWELVE
The eye is everywhere. There is no act it does not see, no desire it can not hold, no secret that can not be known. The heavens speak. The flame bursts on your cheeks. Things are possible. In a moment we live a million years, a thousand lives in a breath.
Behold the eye that holds you. Without hands, it made you. You will be its hands. Without tongue, you become its tongue. Your work is its will. If what you make—your body, your love, your peace—is good, it shall be looked on by gods and endure forever.
--Excerpt from "The Eye of God", Egyptian Book of the Dead, as translated by Normandi Ellis
He awoke to a world with no color, no sound, no texture. There was nothing but light. He was surrounded by light, bathed in it, breathed it, floated in it. It was all, it was nothing. He felt it in his pores, in his mind, in his soul. It was alive, but not alive as are most living beings. It simply was, and always had been, and always would be.
Imhotep could feel the light all around him, and in his first seconds of real consciousness, knew that he was not alone. He could feel the presence of the other, as surely as the other could sense him.
"Who are you?" The words were thoughts only, not physical words. Physical sound had no place here, in this world of light.
"You are awake, then? Good. It is almost time." The light spoke to him, the words forming themselves in his brain, their sound the purest of tones, their melody like that of the most beautiful music ever created. Even though the voice spoke only to his mind, he could hear the words perfectly, and for now, he was content. Let the light answer as it would. For now, there was no pain, no misery, no betrayal…
"Who am I?" The light continued, pulsing and throbbing with life and energy. "I am known by many names. To you and your people, I am Amun-Re. The Hebrew slaves know me as El Shaddai. To others still, I am Allah. Across the sea, I am known by yet other names…Call me as you will. It matters not. What I am is not defined by any name."
"Why have you released me from the pit? The curse I bore carried your name—the name of Amun-Re." The question was almost academic in nature, rather than personal, because here in the light, the past did not matter, nor did the future. In the light, there was no time, no history, only an endless, eternal now.
"The curse you bore was placed upon you by mortals, and was permitted because it served our purposes. For your sins, you suffered, and suffered grievously. It is finished. It was enough. You are needed. The time has come." The voice dismissed three thousand years of torment like the merest blink of an eye. As though the Hom Dai and the pit of Anubis had been a mere slap on the hand. Even within the protective cocoon of light, Imhotep felt the tiniest seed of anger take root.
"I am needed? How? What time has come?" This time, the question carried a hint of emotion, and the light pulsed warmly, almost as though it chuckled at the challenge it sensed.
"Years ago, a great plague was unleashed upon the earth. At the time, it was necessary, and it fulfilled our purposes. Such has happened occasionally during the course of earth's history. The plague came, and went, and achieved its purpose, and was buried." The light rippled, and it seemed almost to sigh. "But the curiosity of man can never be underestimated, and the curse has been rediscovered and has once again sprung to life. This time, it serves no purpose of ours, and the powers of darkness would subvert it, and use it to do their evil, and this must not be allowed."
"Surely evil has walked the earth before, and been left free to ravage the innocent as it will. Why would you intercede now? Why is this time different?" Again, the light was pleased at the hint of challenge, because it signaled a return of the man's strength and will.
"At times, evil is necessary. Is it not true that even the works of darkness can be made to serve the purposes of light? It is our will and our pleasure to create and mold according to our greater purposes. If one looks closely enough, the history of mankind is riddled with the fingerprints of the divine." The light paused, and then continued, the words gathering shape and form and substance, and unparalleled beauty. "Such is the case now. This evil will not be permitted. The time is not right, mankind is not ready, we will not allow it.
"You ask why you have been chosen to meet this need. The answer is complex in its simplicity. It has occurred to us that we can right two wrongs with this choice of paths." The light paused, as if to consider its words carefully. "It has occurred to us that perhaps your punishment has been…harsh. If you succeed in your task, two goals will have been achieved. The plague will be stopped, and your punishment will have ended."
Imhotep paused before forming the next question in his mind. His wits were slowly returning, and he wanted to make absolutely sure of something. "Ended? The curse will be lifted…forever? Simply by my completing this task for you?"
Again, the light seemed to chuckle. "Do not make it sound so easy. The task is challenging, and there will be other…obstacles."
Imhotep dismissed the notion of any obstacle being insurmountable. "Suppose I complete this task. Then what? Will I finally experience the peace of the afterlife? Will it truly be over?" He could feel the kernel of hope take root within his soul.
"Ah, already you exhibit the impatience of humanity. Perhaps the question you should ask is what has already happened. But for a brief pause here, the curse is already lifted. You are mortal. After you complete the task, you will be given a choice…"
"A choice? What choice?" The thought of actually having a choice in some matter pertaining to his destiny was a novel one for Imhotep, who had long ago been stripped of most choices, except the choice to survive, and to strike back against his adversaries.
"You will have two choices, once you have completed the task. You will choose your path. You may choose to remain mortal, and live out the years you would have lived before, or…"
"Live out my years in whatever time this happens to be? Millennia have passed since the time of my birth! You would leave me stranded here, a stranger in this time? What is my other choice?"
"You may choose to abandon earthly life and instead go to the lands of the West. You are right—you exist well beyond your natural timeline. But still, you will be given that choice. We will not make it for you." The light pulsed again, and Imhotep sensed something behind the voice—compassion for what he had suffered, certainly; regret for allowing that suffering? He couldn't be certain. Still, his choice was easy. It had been made years ago, hanging on that ledge.
"I will choose now. I will complete this task for you, and then I choose the afterlife, if the curse is truly over." He paused, then added. "I have nothing left to tie me to the earth, nothing left for which to hold on to mortal life."
"So certain are you. So decisive in your choice. As though you are aware of all of the intricacies of our tapestry." This time, Imhotep was certain the light was laughing at him. "And you have not yet asked about the other…the female."
Even after all these years, the eternity he had spent in the pit, Imhotep could still feel the pain, as fresh as the day it had happened. Ah, gods, what new torture was going to be heaped upon him? Everything that had happened after that day in Seti's chamber—her death, his failure to resurrect her, the death of his priests, his death, and the curse of the Hom Dai—all had been a direct result of his blind, foolish love for a woman. A woman who had proven beyond a doubt that she did not feel as he did.
"I do not care. I do not wish to care. The abomination that I foolishly labeled love is why I am here before you now. Let the woman's fate be hers alone. As is mine. And still I tell you…I choose death, and the promise of the afterlife."
"And I tell you, mortal, that the choice will not be made now!" The light flared slightly hotter at its core, and the words it spoke into his mind reflected anger at his impertinence. Then, as though remembering that it spoke to a mere mortal, the tone gentled once more. "You say you do not care about the woman's fate, so be it! But words may differ from truth, and only the passage of time will determine what is in your hearts. Even through the millennia, your souls have been as one, though her curse, and her punishment, has differed from yours. You are still connected so—and I tell you, your paths will cross once more before this tapestry is complete. Still, the choice will be yours."
"I will not choose differently."
"We shall see. It matters not at the present. The time has come. Are you ready?" The voice was softer, less distinct, and the light was slightly dimmer, as well. Imhotep could almost feel the sensation of being gently lowered, his back coming into contact with smooth, hard stone. And he felt panic—he was adrift in an unknown time, an unknown place, and he had nothing with which to fight. He didn't even know the nature of the plague he was to overcome.
"Wait! You have not even told me what this plague is! And I am mortal? How can I complete this task if you have stripped me of all my powers?" The question was asked somberly, but the light could sense the fierce anxiety underneath.
"Do not fear—the plague will make itself known soon enough. You will recognize it as such, and know. As for your mortality—your powers were already gone, stripped from you during your last waking. They remain so and will remain so. You are mortal. The curse is ended. You are what you once were, and what you will be. You are no more or no less than what you were created to be. You have the tools that you will need, and the gifts that you already possessed will be all that is required."
"But how?"
"The answer lies within you. Look within, to what you are, to what you have always been, to the gifts you once used and valued, to the very flesh and sinew that has been restored to you, and you will have the answer." This last was a mere whisper in his mind, as the light faded more and more rapidly, and finally winked out altogether. The voice was gone, the light was gone, and the enveloping sense of peace and security was nearly gone as well. All that was left were endless questions, a strange sense of loss, and the feel of cold, hard stone against his back.
Lying on the temple altar, Imhotep stirred, moving his hands over the smooth, flat surface. He breathed in a lungful of the pyramid's stale air, opened his eyes to the blackness of its interior, and felt his heart begin to beat again.